Page 86 of Risk

“Yeah, I’m the doofus in the situation.” He chuckles, turning his eyes back to the TV.

I stick my tongue out at him, feigning annoyance, not that he’s even looking, but I’m smiling on the inside.

He does that a lot. Makes me smile. I like being with Kaden. A lot. Probably more than I should. I know I’m getting attached to him, and it’s a dangerous path to go down because he’s the father of my unborn children, and getting attached to him is only going to make things sticky. Well, stickier than they already are.

Madonna’s “Crazy for You” starts to softly play in the background of the movie. It’s the scene where Jenna goes in the closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven, thinking Chris is coming in, but Matt actually goes in instead, and she freaks out.

“This song reminds me of my mom and dad,” I tell Kaden without even really thinking about what I’m saying. I rarely, if ever, talk about my mom. Let alone my mom and dad in the same sentence. I honestly don’t know why I just did. But I’m not going to analyze or assess that now. I’ll park it for later.

“Yeah?” He looks at me again.

“It was their song. It played at their wedding, and whenever the song came on the radio or whatever, they’d both turn the sound up and sing along—loudly and badly.” I laugh softly at the memory. “And sometimes, Mom would play it at home, and Dad would slow dance with her. Of course, we’d all complainthat they were grossing us out, but honestly, I secretly loved it because I could see how much they loved each other, but then…yeah…” I trail off.

He turns on his side to face me. “Zeus once told me that your mom died from cancer, and that was when your dad started drinking.” His words are gentle and measured.

“Yeah, it was.” A bitterness coats my throat, and it surprises me. I’ve never felt anger or bitterness toward my dad. Just pity and sadness, but overall loss. Of the father he could have been to us after we lost Mom, when we needed him most and he let us down.

Bitterness is a new thing for me. Maybe it’s because I’m close to becoming a parent myself, and I can’t imagine ever letting down my kids the way our dad let us down.

“Can I ask you something?” Kaden says in a cautious voice. “And feel free to say no.”

“How about I say yes, and if I don’t want to answer, I won’t?”

He gives me a half smile. “Works for me.”

“Okay, then ask away.”

“Is your dad the reason you want to be a psychologist?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just wondered.” He shrugs. “I don’t know everything, only bits and pieces that Zeus has told me, but I know your dad fell into alcoholism after losing your mom, and you and your brothers were left to pretty much raise yourselves.”

“Zeus and Ares had it tougher than me and Lo. They were teenagers, left to deal with our alcoholic father, who wasn’t abusive,” I’m quick to add, “just useless. I know that sounds harsh to say—”

“It’s not harsh if it’s the truth.”

I let out a sigh. “No, it’s not. He was lost in his own grief and forgot that he had four kids to care for. Four kids who had just lost their mother.”

Weirdly, my eyes start to fill with tears.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The concern in Kaden’s voice and the visibility of it on his face make me want to cry harder, but I hold those tears back because I don’t want to cry any more, and I don’t want to worry him more than I already am.

“No, you didn’t. Honestly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I clear the water from my eyes with my fingers. “Must be hormones.”

Or maybe not. I don’t cry about this stuff because I rarely talk about the loss of my mother or my father’s alcoholism and the effects it all had on my childhood. I talked all that out years ago and don’t feel the need to go over it. I accepted what had happened in my past for what it was a long time ago, so for me to be crying about it now is strange.

I know, if I were my therapist, the first thing I would do is encourage me to talk about it again now because, clearly, there are some residual feelings that have arisen now that I’m about to become a mother. I’m aware that having my own children will force my fears back to the surface, and it’s better if I deal with them now, before the babies arrive.

And there I go, getting all clinical again. Only I could mentally analyze myself while watching a chick flick. Surely, this must be some sort of talent.

A lame talent. But a talent nonetheless.

I make a mental note to book an appointment with a therapist first thing in the morning.

“You okay?”

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